Months have passed since the Boise Area
Race for the Cure. That was on May 8, 2004. But my
introduction to the reality of Breast Cancer will remain
with me as long as my memory will function.

This event, a three-mile run or walk or crawl (or
combination thereof), occurred three weeks after my
fitness turning point with the unmerciful 8.4 miles uphill
and 4.7 miles downhill half-marathon casually referred as
the Robie Creek Race. I had celebrated this personal
milestone for the benefits the endeavor had brought me in
form of lost weight, physical endurance and ability to
accomplish a goal. That, however, had not adequately
prepared
me for the Race for the Cure. What I had achieved for a
personal goal could never equal what I experienced when it
came to racing in order to help find a cure for other
persons suffering.

My then 14-year-old daughter had signed to
participate with me in the Race for the Cure. This being
the first time for either of us to participate in this
race, we arrived at the starting point an hour early to
pick up our T-shirts and information on what was to
happen. Most of the 9,300 participants wore white
T-shirts. Survivors of Breast Cancer wore bright pink
T-shirts. The enormous presence of that color was
mind-boggling, a sight that has refused to leave my mind.
The faces of those wearing pink T-shirts still appear in
my thoughts.

Please forgive me for being naieve. In more than 40 years
of life, I had never realized that men can suffer from
breast cancer. I thought it was strictly a female problem.
Not so. Seeing men in pink and standing or racing next to
one was a realty that could not be experienced or learned
in

Dr. Vincent Muli Kituku poses with his
daughter Lucille Mbinya (left) and Patricia Kempthome
(right), Idaho's First lady before the Race for the Cure
event starts in Bose, Idaho

any other way than being there. I realized
I could be the one wearing a pink only if I were a
survivor of breast cancer.

How can I describe my helplessness the moment I noticed
many of the white T-shirts had a story to tell? There were
participants running/walking for specific loved ones.
Loved ones whose stories were written on pink placards
attached to the back of the white T-shirts. "In memory of
my mother" or "sister" or "aunt´" or (occasionally)
"dad", each with the name of the deceased and some with
dates of their death. Some of the pink placards were worn
by participants racing in memory of a beloved teacher.

Another revelation surfaced, many of the participant were
racing for loved ones who had not yet succumbed to breast
cancer. Some are currently going through treatment. A man
I serve with on the same board of directors was doing it
for his mother. It was a touching reminder, and it hit me
hard. I let my daughter take the lead as I wiped tears.

My mother never had breast cancer, but
in the early 80's she was diagnosed with uterine
cancer. My world seemed to summersault the day she
broke the news to me. Her life and mine had been
intertwined in ways only the two of us understand,
beginning in the early 70's when my father married his
second wife. Her destitute predicament was a forced
rite of passage for me. I was to be my mother's
comforter.

I made sure she knew that when I grew up I
would never forget her. If at any time there was a project
that needed done to avoid subjecting her to my father's
wrath, I always did it willingly. I tried to live the life
I wanted my siblings to live for our mother.

I wasn't ready let this disease claim my mother. The day
they admitted her at Kenyatta General Hospital, Kenya, I
had my first real experience with fasting and meaningful
prayer. It was the day I learned to sing "Amazing Grace"
by heart. Shortly after I learned about divine healing, I
trusted God and sent my mother a handkerchief that had
been prayer over. Mom is a living miracle given that her
uterine cancer was discovered after her 2-week-old child
died of a liver that had been ravaged by cancer, from her
own body.

There is more to "Racing for the Cure." It's something I
want to do again and again. My prayer is to have a minimum
of 100 people who are first timers, whether running for a
loved one or not, to participant with me next year, by the
grace of God. If you would like to be with us, email me at
Vincent@Kituku.com.